The Sniffles
by Maxxe Venier
Summary: Fenris comes down with a cold, and f!Hawke is there to nurse him back to health. Takes place in Act II, before the romance stuff starts. Shameless fluffy goodness. Originally written for the k!meme.
1. Chapter 1

It started with a tickle in the back of his throat.

Fenris had just returned from a trek to the Wounded Coast with Hawke and company, and it had been an especially wet and miserable adventure. Hawke had been asked to clear out some Tal-Vashoth that had been causing trouble on the coast. She'd asked Fenris to come along with her, as well as the dwarf and the abomination. They had all been prepared for a difficult fight, but they had not been prepared for the downpour that began the moment they stepped foot onto sandy terrain. They were soaked to the bone before they knew what hit them.

Fighting giants in the rain is not a pleasant experience.

The battle was long and difficult, and the storm was cold and unforgiving. The mage had tried to shield them from the frigid rain with a barrier spell, and after the battle had summoned a fire to warm them, but Fenris had refused on both accounts. He would not be helped by magic, and did not trust the abomination.

It seemed he was suffering for that now.

The day after the battle and the rain, Fenris awoke with a strange sensation in the back of his throat, like a gentle tickle. He had tried clearing his throat and drinking water and wine, but the tickle wouldn't go away. He shrugged it off as nothing, and went about his business as usual.

By evening, his small tickle had progressed to a painful scratching, and he was having difficulty breathing out of his nose, but he was sure he would be better the following morning, after he got more than his usual amount of sleep. But when Hawke asked him to accompany her on a job in Lowtown the following evening, it didn't even cross his mind to refuse her.

The next day saw him feeling no better, but he shrugged it off as before. It was nothing to be concerned with, he was sure. He met Hawke at her mansion that evening, as planned, prepared to follow her where ever she wished.

"Are you feeling alright, Fenris?" she'd asked him before they set out.

He shrugged her concern away. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" she pressed. "You look a little clammy. You don't have to come with me if you aren't feeling well. I can ask Varric or -"

"No," he said a little too hastily. He cleared his throat and tried again. "No, I'm fine, there is no need to bother the others."

"If you say so." Hawke eyed him warily, but said no more on the subject on their way to Lowtown.

Not surprisingly, they were jumped by the newest street thugs in the area. The fight wasn't difficult for the two skilled warriors to handle, but by the end of it, Fenris felt exhausted. He was gasping for breath, and each one pained his throat. Hawke sent him concerned looks, but he glared back at her, and she shrugged and didn't say anything to him about his condition. She finished up her business quickly, and the pair walked back towards Hightown and their estates together.

As they approached the door of the Hanged Man, Hawke paused. She turned to Fenris, a mischievous grin Fenris was all too familiar with cracked along her face.

"Wanna drop in for a few drinks?" she asked, jerking a thumb towards the door. Behind it were the muffled sounds of laughter and drunken conversations, and the unmistakable voices of at least a few of their companions.

Fenris considered for a moment. He wasn't feeling entirely himself after that fight. But Hawke was inviting him, and this was an excuse to spend more time with her. Besides, he would probably get over this small illness quickly enough. He really didn't feel that bad. The fight had just knocked the wind out of him or something.

So he replied with a cheeky grin and followed Hawke into the tavern.

Varric, Isabela, and Merrill were gathered around a table near the back. The dwarf spotted Hawke and Fenris when they entered and waved them over with a smile. As they neared, they saw their friends had been playing Wicked Grace, and Merrill was losing miserably.

"Pull up some chairs and join in," Varric told them happily.

"Yes, we could use some fresh blood," Isabela smiled devilishly.

Merrill frowned at her cards. "How do you two keep winning?"

"They cheat, Merrill," Hawke sighed as she plopped down next to the distraught elf.

"I never see them do it," she pouted.

"That would defeat the purpose, kitten," Isabela purred over her cards.

"Well, Fenris and I are harder to fool. Deal us in. Let's see if your lucky streak can last." The rogues grinned at each other and Varric dealt Fenris and Hawke their cards.

"I saw that," Hawke snapped as Varric tried to slip a card up his sleeve.

"Maybe we shouldn't have asked them to join," Isabela mused.

"You have to work for your gold," Hawke said with a grin.

Fenris heard and saw all of this, but he couldn't focus on any of it. He heard the words but didn't understand their meaning. He tried to look at his hand of cards, but his head had started pounding. He looked up and realized everyone was staring at him.

"It's your move, Fenris," Merrill told him gently, concern in her voice. His lip curled unpleasantly. He didn't need concern from a maleficarum.

He looked back down at his cards, but it was becoming difficult to focus his vision. He pulled at the collar of his jerkin, suddenly feeling flushed. Had it been this hot a moment ago? He felt like he was melting in his armor.

"Broody, you're not looking so good," Varric remarked, voice a bit uneasy.

"I'm fine," was Fenris's short reply, and Varric shrugged.

"Whatever you say," the dwarf said quickly, palms raised in surrender. He wasn't about to argue with the moody, deadly elf tonight.

"Are you sure you're alright?" That was Hawke's voice. Fenris could bear this no longer.

"I said I'm fine," he told her sharply. He slapped his cards down on the table and stood roughly. He braced his hands on the table and tried to make it look like he wasn't about to fall over.

Hawke moved to stand as well and he waved her away from him. He pulled himself tall and tried to sound convincing when he said, "Enjoy your game."

Hawke frowned. "Do you want -"

"No. I am leaving." He turned and strode out of the Hanged Man as proudly as he could. He would not show any weakness.

When Fenris was outside in the dark and the door was safely shut behind him, he collapsed against the wall. His throat felt like it was on fire every time he took a breath. His head was pounding, and he could feel his heartbeat in his temples. His body felt weak and achy, and he felt like his insides were burning up.

He stumbled through the city streets, using the walls for support, and was amazed when he made it to his home. He burst through the door and nearly collapsed in the foyer, but forced his legs to carry him a little further, to his bed. He fell onto the mattress and hoped for sleep. He wanted any escape from this misery, and hopefully by the morning, his ordeal would be ended.


	2. Chapter 2

Fenris wasn't sure what was happening to him anymore. He didn't know how long he'd been in his bed, or even what time of day it was. He'd somehow lost his armor and most of his clothing, but he couldn't remember doing it, and he didn't really care. All he could think about was the heat. He felt like he was burning alive from the inside. He wondered if he was dying, then slipped back into unconsciousness.

Elsewhere in Hightown, Hawke was beginning to grow worried. No one had heard from or seen Fenris since the Hanged Man last night, and it was now well into the evening. He hadn't seemed himself then, and she had been concerned. Hawke had wondered aloud to her companions if she should follow him, or at least go check up on him later, but they'd waved her worries away.

"He's a big boy," Isabela said. "He can take care of himself."

Varric nodded. "Broody said he was fine."

"He did seem like he wanted to be left alone," Merrill added.

Hawke had frowned, but in the end, she figured they were right, and tried to push her fears into the back of her mind. But now her instincts were all roaring at her that something was very wrong. She sighed and gathered up her gear, mind made up. She was going to pay the elf a visit right this moment.

His Hightown mansion was dark and empty and quiet, like always, but the air seemed different. She couldn't put her finger on the problem, but it only made her more anxious to find him.

"Fenris!" she called into the mansion. There was no answer but a dull echo. She tried again. The silence was almost suffocating.

In his bedroom, Fenris was roused from sleep by a familiar voice. Or maybe he wasn't roused from sleep. Maybe he was still dreaming, because why would she be in his house?

"Fenris!" Hawke exclaimed from the doorway of his room. Well, apparently she was in his house. She dropped her pack and gear by his door and rushed to his side, crouching next to his bed. "Maker, you look like death. Why didn't you tell anyone you were getting sick?"

Fenris made a sound, rough and deep in his throat, but pitifully soft. If that was supposed to be some kind of reply, Hawke didn't know what he was trying to say. She sighed with worry and looked him over again. There was only one thing to do now.

"I'll go get Anders." She stood to leave, but a hand gripped her wrist painfully tight. Fenris may be dangerously sick, but he was still unbelievably strong. Hawke sat back down. Fenris was sitting up, staring at her, chest heaving with the effort. His eyes were wild and pained, but the look he gave her was deadly serious.

"No." His voice was quiet, but clear and strong. Hawke stared at him for a moment, too stunned to respond. But when Fenris dropped his hand from her wrist and collapse back on the bed in a heap of misery, the spell was broken. Her brows wrinkled incredulously, and she crossed her arms across her chest.

"Are you serious? Don't be a foolish git, you stubborn elf! Anders will have you right again before you could say _venhedis_."

Fenris tried shaking his head, but the last of his strength was gone. "No. Magic," he wheezed between pained breaths.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "You're serious." Fenris looked up at her, those large, green eyes piercing through her, and she realized in a sudden moment of clarity that he was afraid. Her heart grew heavy in her chest, and she inhaled deep to chase it away. "Alright, no magic."

Fenris grunted in what Hawke assumed was gratitude, and rolled his head back onto his pillow. His eyes squeezed shut in pain, and heard the shuffling of feet. He assumed Hawke had left, but a moment later, the sound of tearing fabric reached his ears. He looked around and saw Hawke rearranging the bottoms of his bedsheets and holding a thin strip of cloth she hadn't been holding a moment ago. She'd just ripped off part of his sheet, he realized.

She returned to kneeling beside him and pulled a skin of water from her pack. She poured some water over the cloth, just enough to dampen it, then returned the skin to her pack. Then she folded the fabric and laid it across the elf's burning forehead. He flinched against the cloth, which was so chilled against his flaming skin that it hurt. He tried to raise a heavy hand to move the cloth, but Hawke batted his hand away.

"Don't move that. You're on fire. It'll cool you off so you can sleep properly," she told him.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, confused. He sounded so frail and small, it almost broke her heart, but Hawke would never tell him that. He'd probably punch through her chest to make sure it was broken.

"I'm taking care of you," she replied in that matter of fact voice of hers. She pulled a small pouch of herbs and some crafting supplies from her bag, and he eyed them with disgust.

"I need no care," he told her, and he glared through heavy eyelids. But a glare from a sick bed isn't terribly menacing. Hawke tsked at him through her teeth. He opened his mouth to argue with her more, but Hawke just rolled her eyes at him.

"Oh, shut up, Fenris. You're sick, and I'm taking care of you. There's no argument." She shot him one of her looks, the one that just dared you to challenge her, if you were willing to face down the brunt of her rage and probably her maul while she was at it. Fenris wisely kept his mouth shut.

Satisfied that he wasn't going to try to argue, Hawke went back to mixing a simple potion with the elfroot she had. It wasn't going to be an instant cure - she was no healer or potion crafter - but she'd used elfroot before, and she knew it would speed her patient's recovery.

Fenris tried to watch her while she worked, but his ability to focus hadn't improved since Wicked Grace. Instead he settled for letting his eyes drift closed. The coolness of the cloth had seeped into his skull, and the pounding of his head had begun to abate. It wasn't gone, but it was better, almost tolerable now. Perhaps Hawke knew what she was doing.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, followed, or favorite this story! I'm glad so many people like it! Sorry the chapters have been so short, I've just been posting as I write, and I've only had time to do small bits at a time, but the story is almost done! I should be finished tonight or tomorrow. Thanks again for reading, and I hope you enjoy the rest!

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"Here," Hawke was saying now. Fenris realized his eyes had slipped closed and tried to open them again, but his eyelids were so heavy. He couldn't remember why he'd wanted to open them now, he just wanted to sleep.

Like the word was a spell of its own, the moment he thought it, he was drawn under. His body relaxed and he drifted down into peaceful -

"Fenris!" Hawke's voice snapped at him, and a foul smell seeped into his nose. He wrinkled his face and turned away from it. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tried to get back to sleep.

"Fenris, wake up," Hawke demanded, and the elf tried again to open his eyes, and again he failed. Why wouldn't she just let him sleep?

"Look at me, Fenris," her voice urged again, softer this time, but insistent. Fenris groaned, and forced his leaden eyelids open. His gaze fluttered around the room, until finally he found her face. He wanted to touch her, and he tried to lift his hand to her cheek, but his arm was so heavy, and he was so weak.

He thought he must be asleep again and dreaming when he felt her fingers wrap around his own and guide his hand back to lay at his side. He must be dead or in the Fade, because there was no way Hawke was really here, was really caring for him. The fingers that were entwined with his own gave his hand a soft squeeze, and he thought his heart might burst if this sickness didn't kill him first.

"You have to drink this." She held up what he could now see was a bowl full of liquid, which was apparently the source of that horrendous smell. Fenris wrinkled his nose and turned away again. He wasn't about to drink that.

"No, don't do that," Hawke scolded, and untangled her fingers from his to place her hand softly on his cheek. She pressed gently to turn him back to her, and he gladly leaned into her touch. Her hand was smooth and cool against his skin, and he mourned when she pulled away. "Please," she was saying now, "drink this, for me. It will help you get better."

He scowled at her, but she gave him another one of her Hawke looks, and he knew he wasn't going to win this fight. He gave a reluctant nod, and Hawke moved to press one arm underneath his shoulders, between his body and his mattress. She wrapped her arm around his body, pressing his shoulder against her chest, and gently lifted him into a sitting position. He savored the contact between them, until Hawke brought the small bowl to his lips and he remembered why she was touching him.

Fenris pursed his lips, having second thoughts about this agreement, but Hawke's voice urged him to drink, and he could never deny her anything. He relaxed against her, shut his eyes, and pressed his lips to the edge of the bowl. Hawke tilted it slowly, and the liquid began to drip into his mouth.

It tasted just as awful as it smelled, but the moment it touched the back of his throat, some of the pain abated. He drank the rest much more willingly, and savored the relief it brought. With the potion gone, Hawke placed the empty bowl on the floor, and guided Fenris back against the mattress.

"Get some sleep now, you need it." She stood and tucked his sheets in around his body, and Fenris's heart skipped every time she touched him. He fought to keep his eyes open to watch her, but felt sleep taking him again, and his eyes were closed tight a moment later.

Hawke stood, watching his rhythmic breathing as he drifted off. When she'd first arrived this evening, her heart had jumped to her throat when she'd seen him. He'd looked awful, and she mentally kicked herself for letting him walk home from the Hanged Man alone last night. But his breathing already seemed better, less labored and less painful.

She allowed herself a small smile, and praised herself for still knowing how to make a decent elfroot potion. She bent down again and rifled through her pack, looking for other supplies she'd need when he woke up, but she didn't have all she would've liked. She shot the sleeping elf a quick glance, and decided she could risk a short trip back to her estate to grab more supplies.

She nodded to herself to reaffirm her decision, then stood to leave, but her foot collided with the small bowl she'd just placed by the bed, and sent it careening across the room, making enough noise to wake the dead. She flinched and glanced back at Fenris, who had groaned and shifted slightly in the bed. But then he settled, and she let out a sigh of relief. She turned to go, but a sound stopped her.

"Hawke," he whispered, so softly she could barely hear him.

"Yes, Fenris?" She leaned in close to him, so his breath tickled her cheek.

"I'm... glad you're here." She drew in a quick breath when the meaning behind his words sank in.

She pulled back slowly, a small grin on her face. Her first impulse, now that the elf was on the path to recovery, was to make a snide remark, but she discovered that Fenris was out like the lanterns outside of Anders' clinic whenever Isabela tried to collect on his gambling debts. Why Isabela expected to get any money out of a man who ran a free healing clinic was beyond Hawke's understanding.

But with Fenris asleep, she really should be running over to her estate to grab the things she'd need if she was going to stay and continue to care for him. Which she was. So she should get going. Right.

She snuck out of his house as quietly as she could, which wasn't very, she was no rogue, and crept back into her own estate. Her mother was thankfully not awake to question where her daughter was going to be spending the night. Hawke gathered up her bedroll, some food, and an assortment of other items she thought she might need, and stuffed it all into another pack before heading bad to Fenris's mansion.

When she came back into his bedroom, Fenris made a small noise in his sleep, and Hawke almost melted into her boots. He was fidgeting in his bed, and the sheets were messed again and barely covering him.

"I thought you left me," he whispered, and she was sure he wasn't completely awake. Fenris would never willingly sound so small and vulnerable. She strode quickly to his side to kneel next to the bed, and slipped her hand back into his.

"I'm here," she told him, and he made another tiny whimpering noise. He'd pulled the cloth from his forehead, and his hair was messed and slicked against his skin, wet with water and sweat.

"Don't go." He turned his head toward her, although his eyes remained closed. She couldn't resist, and reached a tentative hand out to cup his face. He seemed to relax into her touch, and soon the fidgeting had stopped, his breathing evened out, and he was deep into sleep again.

"I'm staying," Hawke whispered with a smile, and ran her thumb along his cheek. With a small sigh, she stood rearranged his sheets again. She paused for another long look at him, then pulled her bedroll from her pack and spread it out a short way from Fenris's bed.

She pulled off her boots and settled into the roll, tucking her arm beneath her head and watching Fenris sleep until she drifted off to join him in the Fade.


	4. Chapter 4

Fenris awoke the next morning to the sun shining in his eyes, the sound of a fire, and the smell of something mouthwatering. He squinted at the bright light, and cursed himself again for not doing anything about that hole in the ceiling. As his eyes adjusted, he pulled himself up into a sitting position.

His headache was practically gone, and was now only a dull ache instead of a heavy pounding. His throat was still scratchy and painful, but it no longer felt like he was inhaling daggers every time he took a breath, and he could almost breathe out of his nose again. He stretched tired muscles, and found that while entire body was still weak and sore, he could at least move everything again.

Fenris noticed something out of place in the corner of his vision, and looked to find a bedroll that looked very much slept in lying only a few feet from his bed, amidst a small pile of crafting items and some ragged black boots. He'd recognize those ugly boots anywhere, and their owner never went anywhere without them, which meant...

He turned to the fireplace, and found a small fire going, and Hawke stirring something in a small pot hanging over it. He must have made a noise, or she saw his movement from the corner of her eye, because at that moment she turned to look at him, and greeted him with a huge, warm smile. He smiled back weakly, and scratched the back of his head. She must have stayed the night to care for him, and he wasn't quite sure how to respond to that.

He glanced down and realized he was only in his small clothes, and wondered how that had happened. Immediately following was the realization that Hawke must have seen him in only his smalls, and this thought was exhilarating and nerve wracking all at once.

Hawke didn't give him much time to dwell on those thoughts, because in the next moment she was beside him with a bowl of stew and a spoon. Instead of handing him the spoon and the bowl, she dipped the utensil into the stew, pulled up a spoonful of the stuff, and held it up in front of his mouth. She frowned when he didn't move.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She looked at him like he was daft, and replied simply, "Feeding you."

He snorted. "I am capable of feeding myself."

She tilted her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. "I'm trying to be nice here. I don't get the urge often, so you'd best go along with it."

He felt suddenly ungrateful, and reluctantly opened his mouth to let her spoon feed him the stew she'd cooked just for him. It was thick and full of vegetables, and the warmth of the broth soothed his throat. Fenris let his eyes slip closed in contentment, and he heard Hawke tsk in amusement.

"I never pegged you as the mothering type." He cracked his eyes open to watch her reaction.

"Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold." She was trying to hide a smile, but she wasn't doing a very good job.

He let her feed him the rest of her stew in silence, and he savored every spoonful. His eyes followed her movements, and whenever their gazes met, he saw genuine care for him in her eyes that warmed his heart in a way he never thought he'd experience. All too soon, the stew was gone and their moment was done, and Hawke went to work cleaning up the mess she'd made from cooking.

Fenris tried to get up to help, but she shot him a look that said he'd better not dare to move from that bed, and he settled back down quickly enough. When she'd finished cleaning, she gathered up her crafting supplies and set about making another potion.

He watched her as she crafted, the warmth in his heart growing with each passing moment. He admired the way her hands could wield a huge maul in battle the way she did, but they could also move so softly and delicately when she was creating a potion, or holding his hand. He felt a blush creeping up his cheeks and turned away from her before she noticed.

After another moment, she was back at his bedside and handing him another bowl of potion. She let him feed himself this time, which he appreciated despite his twinge of disappointment. He drank the potion down quickly this time, and shoved the bowl back into her hands with a grimace. It didn't taste any better this time around.

"So, how are you feeling?" she asked expectantly.

He shrugged. "Better. I'm... much better."

She gave him a warm smile and said sincerely, "Good."

Then she knelt down and started folding her bedroll back up. Apparently she was going to leave now that he wasn't in danger of getting himself killed by a cold. Fenris shifted awkwardly in the bed.

"I should dress," he said, a bit uncomfortably.

Hawke turned to look him up and down with a wry grin. "I don't mind if you don't."

Fenris spared her a shy half smile, but snatched up his jerkin and leggings from the floor and pulled them on anyway. She pouted at him playfully as she finished packing the rest of her items.

"Make sure you keep resting and don't over exert yourself until you're completely better, or you'll make yourself get sick again," she advised. "If I have to do all of this again because your stubborn self couldn't listen, I might just let you stay sick." She grinned at him, then she was standing and heading towards the door.

"Hawke," he called after her. She paused halfway out the door and looked back at him. He swallowed and inhaled deep, then said the words that had been on the tip of his tongue all day. "Thank you."

Hawke stared at him for a moment before a wide grin cracked across her face. "Just don't get sick again, Broody," she told him, knowing he hated Varric's nickname for him. "I need my favorite elf fighting fit for all the wild misadventures I have planned."

Fenris smirked. "Am I to take it all your plans involve fighting then?"

She grinned wider, if that was possible. "If that's what gets you off." She winked up at him, and was out the door before he could think of a clever response.

**End.**


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